


We Should Turn Back

by orphan_account



Category: Lord of the Flies - William Golding
Genre: Canon Divergence, Gen, I am not allowing them to die., divergence from the original idiot plot, plot armor is strongly equipped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26654203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Stumbling footsteps, snapping twigs and crunching leaves, stopped them. Ralph peered in the darkness in the direction of the footsteps. If that was the beast, it was wounded. Ralph wasn’t afraid, his head spun too fast to think at all.The whites of tortured eyes appeared as the figure clung heavily to some poor tree. It wasn’t tall enough to be the beast. It whispered “We should turn back.”Ralph recognized the voice. He’d thought its owner was lost. It was a relief to ask “Simon? Where have you been?”
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	1. We Should Turn Back

**Author's Note:**

> So! Welcome to my first proper fic. My deepest apologies go to my supreme english teacher, but it was her suggestion to write fanfiction of Lord Of The Flies. She opened this can of worms and now both me and you, dear reader, have to lie in it. Note: I am aging the biguns up to 15 for relatability and am not going to write in the 1950s British dialect, sorry. Piggy is aro/ace, Jack is bi, Ralph is pan, Roger and Simon are gay, Samneric are they/them because they're referred to as that for so long it might as well be. (This doesn't have much plot implications. The ships are really just implied and Samneric are not the focus at all.) Are you sure you wanna read this? Let’s get started then.

Firelight dappled angrily through the trees. The sky was the color of the ocean where anglerfish lurked. Ralph could hear the chanting, words crispening with every step. Sam and Eric clung to each other, their dirty hair standing on end at the sound of the feast. “Kill the pig. Slit her throat. Spill her blood.” Clawing hunger kept them moving forward.

The chanting crescendoed on “Spill her blood.” A couple of littluns, who were in the choir, sang a little aria over the speeding rhythm. This violent song was not made for sopranos. Rocks were kicked around as they stomped in circles. It scraped and thrummed and made an orchestral accompaniment. 

Ralph couldn’t quite tell whether his spotty, flickering vision was hunger or simply the fire. Whether his speeding heartbeat was fatigue or fear. If Piggy stopped now, he’d stop too. Jack’s group was not a place he should be.

None of them stopped.

Stumbling footsteps, snapping twigs and crunching leaves, stopped them. Ralph peered in the darkness in the direction of the footsteps. If that was the beast, it was wounded. Ralph wasn’t afraid, his head spun too fast to think at all. 

The whites of tortured eyes appeared as the figure clung heavily to some poor tree. It wasn’t tall enough to be the beast. It whispered “We should turn back.”  
Ralph recognized the voice. He’d thought its owner was lost. It was a relief to ask “Simon? Where have you been?”

“Jack’s group killed a pig. I found the beast. It’s only a dead man with a parachute.” Simon exhaled. “We should turn back. Jack’s group isn’t safe.” Their sticks, sharpened at both ends, were dangerous when their faces were dirty.

“You don’t make sense,” Piggy said. “The beast is a dead man, or was it a pig killed by Jack? What did they do that scared you like that?” Piggy still sort of thought Simon was batty. He didn’t hold it against him, Piggy often wished he could escape reality. But as long as he couldn’t lose it completely, he needed to know what Simon meant.

Simon just shook his head and looked, glass-eyed, at the fire.

Jack was conducting the ceremony. He bounced and shifted and danced like the fire. His eyes were so mesmerized by the light, he didn’t bother looking at the ground. “Kill the beast!” He screamed. “Spill her blood!”

The boys echoed him in a round. “Slit her throat!”

Jack swayed, in and out of the circle in a twisted hokey-pokey dance. He smeared his war paint with sweat and bloody fingers. He tore a piece from the roasting pig, half-raw, and closed his eyes as he bit it.

The beat restarted and Jack kept dancing instinctively. Until he choked. He flailed and caught his bare foot on a stabbing slice of rock. Everyone’s eyes were on the leader when he fell into the middle of the circle. Into the fire.

The littluns swarmed. They clawed. There was no difference between Jack and the scorched, fat-dripping pig and the beast. Jack screamed.

"You see?" Simon whispered. "They won't even spare their chief."

Sam and Eric looked away. Simon, Ralph, and Piggy did not.

Jack’s cries were high and unholy. They bubbled with spit and blood.

Roger couldn’t allow this. Jack was the leader. Jack was Roger’s friend, not the beast. He picked up his double-sharpened stick and howled. There would not be a murder, not on Roger’s watch.

He charged in like a crusader for Jack. He swung his stick and his fists and he even bit, throwing aside seven-year-olds like dead squirrels. “Get back,” Roger screeched until his throat was sore, and once he reached Jack he wrenched him away from the fire. There was blood and scorched and clawed skin and tears.

Roger thought Jack still looked good when he cried.

He was really… Jacked up.

“You’ll be okay,” Roger lied, having no idea of first aid. He’d refused to join boy scouts and called them pansies. He regretted that now. “We’ll fix you. It’ll be okay, Jack.”

“Bloody Jesus,” Jack said, along with some other curse words. He curled up and trembled.

Still hiding in the trees, Piggy, who didn’t have his glasses, wondered why the music stopped. 

A brave littlun shuffled up to Jack and said “We’re sorry. Will he be okay?"

Roger heard “What will save us?” He stared daggers up to Heaven as the sky opened up and no angels emerged. There was only rain.


	2. Timothy, sir

Sam, peering at the derailed party, said “I think Jack fell into the fire.”

Eric said “Serves him right.”

Simon repeated “We should turn back.”

Piggy glanced at Ralph and took the conch from him. Ralph never paid attention in boy scouts. “We need to help him.”

“No you don’t,” Simon said. “We need to go away!”

“Fine, then.” Piggy glared at Simon. He was acting like a coward. “But we don’t have doctors here. If we leave, Jack will die. We’ll kill him. We’ll be no better than the beast.”

Simon shrunk back into the trees.   
When he moved the branches they were all showered with collected rainwater. Piggy wiped the rain away from his long bangs. “You can go. I’m going to help, because I’m not scared.” He took a breath and blew the conch as he bushwhacked into the clearing.

All heads except for Roger and Jack turned towards Piggy. A littlun repeated what he’d heard all of Jack’s group say: “We don’t want you here, Piggy. You’re just like a pig.”

A side effect of Piggy’s intelligence was that he always thought of cruel things to say. His auntie taught him not to say them, but his auntie wasn’t here. His whole face screwed up as he said “Am I like a pig? Really? Because I’m not the one being roasted by your stupid little fire.” He pointed at Jack. “He is. And I’m the only one who knows how to help him.”

Jack spat “Pig,” but it didn’t have the same gravitas, as he was still writhing in the dirt.

He directed his attention towards Roger. “You want me to save him, because you care about him,” He accused. Caring was the one thing Jack’s group did not, as a rule, do. “Well, if you want me to save him, you’re gonna have to stop calling me a pig. My name is Timothy.”

“All right,” Roger said, making an aimless fist in the muddy, ashy dirt. “What do we do.”

Timothy just stared at him.

Roger painstakingly repeated “What do we do, Timothy.”

He tapped his foot.

Some remnant of the private-school student he once was arose in Roger. “Timothy. Sir.”

Timothy grinned. “Collect that cold rainwater and pour it on Jack, and fashion some of your clothes into bandages. Make sure the broken skin doesn’t touch dirt.”

“But mending cloth is for girls,” one of Jack’s group complained.

“Then I suppose dying is for boys,” Timothy shot back. “Start working.”

“Yes, sir,” the littlun said.


	3. sorry lol

I ~got bored~ so I will not be finishing this. If you want to know what happens next, Ralph and Simon and Samneric bury the beast and the Lord Of The Flies, giving them a proper funeral. Piggy gains Jack's trust as Jack heals from falling into the fire, and Piggy becomes the leader he was always meant to be. They have a proper society, involving agriculture and fun in balanced amounts, by the time they are rescued. Jack might like to go back sometimes as an adult, as a vacation. Everyone is happy ever after :) thanks for reading <3


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